By some miracle of evolution,

robins are back on my lawn.

I watch them breeze in, then,

wings folded, march back and forth,

chest-proud, like miniature soldiers,

heads slanted, listening for a murmur

underground–or possibly a signal

from the heavens. I struggle,

brain-dependent, to follow along,

unable to hear what they hear,

do what they do.

~ by

Doug Macomber